City of Light
by Heimarmene
Summary: When Clary and Isabelle are accidentally Portaled to London 1878, they find a world they've never known. Soon followed by Jace, Alec, Simon, and Magnus, they and their ancestors chase a villain who has the power to change life as they know it. Hiatus.
1. Preface: London 1878

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**AUGUST 1878**

**11:48 PM**

Axel Mortmain stared out the window pensively, hands folded neatly behind his back. It was drizzling outside; quite normal, he supposed, when one considered the time of year. The fire crackled merrily in the background, kept alive only for its appearance to the footman and the parlor maid. He had begun to suspect foul play when Griffiths entered the room and cleared his throat, as though hoping not to be noticed. Mortmain watched his reflection in the darkened glass. "A guest to see you, sir,'' was all he said.

"Very well," Mortmain said, without turning around. "Do send him in. And be quick about it, won't you?"

"Of course, sir." The footman bowed and slipped back into the hallway as silently as he had come. Mortmain resumed his unseeing gaze into the night. Presently, the door opened and a cloaked figure slid into the room, as graceful as one of those blasted Nephilim. The fire blew itself out with the entrance, as if sensing the imminent danger. The stranger took in the room's fine décor and chuckled darkly. "You've been making a fine living, haven't you, Mortmain," he said.

Mortmain unhitched himself from the window and, walking over to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of liqueur. "Brandy?" he offered, waving a glass in the man's general direction. He shook his head. Mortmain shrugged unconcernedly and downed his portion, promptly topping it again with a generous amount. The moments dragged on, neither saying a word, until the reappearance of Griffiths. "Another guest, sir," he announced wearily. "Shall I send him in as well?"

"Please do. Tell him I'm terribly disappointed in him. He should know better than to keep the Magister waiting."

"As you wish, sir." Another bow, another hushed exit. Mortmain settled himself in his chair and waited. The other man ranged around the room, picking things up and examining them. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by the doorknob turning. It swung open to reveal Nathaniel Gray, dressed in a fine suit. He was followed by another hooded figure. Together, with the first man, they set themselves in the chairs across from Mortmain. Simultaneously, the two cloaked figures dropped their hoods. Nathaniel simply sat there, looking decidedly at ease with the entire thing.

"Why have you called us here tonight, Mortmain?" the first man asked, sounding rather bored. "I am not one of your silly cult followers; I see no reason to stay."

"Patience, Fredrichs," Mortmain said easily. "I have an offer to propose."

"I am not interested in your ill-gotten wealth," Fredrichs said lazily, "nor any offer of yours. Good bye." He stood to leave. "What makes you think I would willingly part with fortune, Fredrichs?" Mortmain called. "My reward is not gold, but flesh. I understand you have taken a recent interest in the vampire woman Belcourt?"

Fredrichs froze, his hand on the doorknob. "What do you know about her?" he asked in as neutral a voice as he could manage. Mortmain laughed like a child with a new toy. "I have been tracking her," he said. "I know where she has fled. If you carry out your task successfully, I will find and have her brought back to England for you. If not…you will not see her again."

Fredrichs crossed the room and threw himself into his previously vacated chair. "You play a dirty game, Mortmain," he said. "Dirty and dangerous."

"Will you accept my offer?"

"It's not as if it's an easy choice you've left me, mundane. Stop looking so smug. I will help you under two conditions; you will not go back on your word and she will not be harmed."

"I swear on the Angel."

"That holds you to nothing, mortal, and you know it. I want you to swear on your own life."

"A risky thing you are asking, my friend," Mortmain mused. "But if it is the only way to gain your trust and cooperation, then so be it. I swear on my life that your vampire will not be harmed and that I shall do everything in my power to obtain her."

"That is all very well," the second man interrupted, "but there is no reason for us to be here that I can see. Why were we summoned, Mortmain? And no funny answers."

Mortmain gazed around the table. Two of these men were infinitely valuable to him, and he could not afford to lose such weapons. The human boy, however, was becoming bothersome. He would have to be disposed of, soon. "Gentleman, a plan has been formulated and the time is ripe for it to be put into motion. I want that girl."

"Theresa Gray? But sir, that thing is sure to play right into your hands," Nathaniel protested. Mortmain smiled condescendingly. "I do not want the shapeshifter, boy," he said. "I want the other one."

"Jessamine Lovelace?" Fredrichs looked baffled.

"Lilian Highsmith?" the second man asked.

"The maid?" Nathaniel inquired.

"No, you fools!" Mortmain howled. "The _other_ one! The woman! I want Charlotte Branwell kneeling at my feet!" He calmed down fractionally. "You, Richardson." The second man grunted. "I want you to monitor the rest of those pathetic excuses of Shadowhunters that she calls her family."

"What's in it for me?" Richardson asked suspiciously. Mortmain smiled maliciously. "When I rule, you will have an assured place on my consul, should you succeed in your task."

"And if not?"

"Then you will be punished. Fredrichs, you have her trust, do you not?"

"I do."

"Excellent. You will strengthen this trust, until she would allow you to lead her blindfolded and weaponless into battle."

"Sir?"

"What?" Mortmain snapped. Nathaniel shrunk away. "What will you have me do, sir?" he asked in a small voice.

"Nothing," Mortmain said. "You are too weak to be of any help to me. All of you, go," he added. "I am finished with you for today." He turned back to the window and recommenced his watchful trance. "Do not fail me. I want her dead."


	2. Portal

**As promised, chapter one of City of Light. Notes at the bottom. Thanks to all who reviewed or read!**

_**Chapter 1: Portal**_

_()()()_

**MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**OCTOBER 2007**

**3:26 AM**

"JACE LIGHTWOOD!"

Clary Fairchild-Greymark groaned and buried her face into her pillow in attempt to drown out the voice of her best friend.

It didn't work.

At all.

"JACE _STEPHEN_ LIGHTWOOD, YOU CHEEKY BASTARD, GET BACK HERE…!" The door was thrown open and Isabelle Lightwood stood framed in the hall light, looking like an angel. Except, of course, for the platinum whip she held in her hand. An avenging angel, more like. A very angry avenging angel in pajamas. "Hi, Clary," she said apologetically. "You don't mind if I kill your boyfriend, do you?"

"Yeah."

"Destroy his ability to have future children?"

"Yeah."

Isabelle sighed aggrievedly. "Injure grievously?"

"Isabelle," Clary mumbled into her pillowcase, "go away. It's too early to be killing people."

Isabelle's voice was pouty. "But he started it," she complained. There was the sound of a door closing and the slap of bare feet against the hardwood floor. Clary felt the mattress compress on one side. "Fine. You win. Shove over," Isabelle yawned. Clary scooted closer to the wall. "He can wait. I'm beat. G'night."

The girls dropped off to sleep without another word.

_()()()_

_Jace, covered in blood. No, it wasn't Jace, but a boy who looked shockingly like him. Familiar, even. Like Clary had seen him before, in a picture. Then a girl who could have been Isabelle's sister, only she was blond where Isabelle was raven. A tiny, dark-eyed woman and a tall man beside her. A silver-haired phantom boy. Jace, Isabelle, Alec, Simon. Herself. All covered in blood. All looking as if their lives had been cut away before their very eyes._

Clary yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Morning," she said to no one in particular.

"Morning," a voice answered brightly. Clary yelped and nearly jumped out of her skin until she realized it was just Isabelle, sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed. "Jesus, Izzy," Clary grumbled. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day."

"You drool," Isabelle observed. "A lot." Clary flushed and wiped at her mouth furiously until she noticed Isabelle nearly falling off the bed in hysterics. "Oh my gosh," the other girl giggled, "I was kidding. You don't actually. Do you?"

Clary scowled and kicked the covers off her legs. "Very funny, Lightwood," she said drily.

"I try."

"Go away, Izzy. I have to get dressed."

"Oh, please. It's not like I've never seen you before," Isabelle snorted. "I dressed you when you were half-dead, remember?"

Clary grimaced. "I'd rather not."

"And you don't look that horrible, either," Isabelle continued. "I mean, for someone so short and flat-chested, you're not –"

"ISABELLE," Clary said. She could feel herself turning red. "Shut up." Isabelle opened her mouth to say more, but Clary snatched her shoe off the ground and flung it in her friend's direction. Isabelle ducked out the door, still laughing.

Embarrassed and mildly fuming, Clary stomped into the bathroom. The door slammed shut with a satisfying crash. For a moment, she felt guilty for most likely waking the rest of the house, before she remembered that she was in the Institute and nobody could have heard her if they had tried. Feeling faintly forgotten, she turned the taps on and leaned against the edge of the counter to wait. Once she had deemed it warm enough, she stripped and stepped in eagerly, letting the flow of water wash away last night's half-forgotten misapprehension-laden dreams.

Twenty minutes later found Isabelle and a freshly scrubbed Clary strolling out the grand double doors of the Institute. Isabelle had offered to make breakfast but Clary had hastily declined, remembering the green tomato-peanut-fish concoction that Simon had once tried. She had suggested the place they'd taken her to, with the burly bouncer and Kaelie the waitress. Isabelle had shrugged, agreed, and gone to get her stele. They'd been off in two minutes.

The restaurant and conjoined tavern was nearly deserted when they entered. A few patrons were slumped over the bar, some still nursing brightly-colored drinks, though the majority was passed out. "How come there's nobody here?" Clary whispered as they passed.

"It _is_ Saturday," Isabelle pointed out. "They're probably all in bed with hangovers." She noticed Clary's expression. "We'll get to go," she decided, flouncing up to a clean table. Clary followed apprehensively. She took the menu Isabelle offered, though she didn't look at it. One of the conscious men reminded her of someone from her dream, though she couldn't quite place him. He was of a smaller stature, with a few too many pounds around the middle. Clary was trying to match him with a name when Isabelle snapped her fingers under Clary's nose, effectively breaking her reverie. "What?" she asked groggily.

"I _said_, what are you ordering? Flav is waiting." Isabelle had tossed her menu aside and was gazing at Clary worriedly. Standing beside her was a man, though Clary had to look twice to make sure. He was wearing an electric blue leather miniskirt, a chain-link mesh shirt, and vivid pink eyeliner. His hair was twisted into shockingly green dreadlocks, and he had more piercings than Clary could count. Hastily, she looked at her own menu, but couldn't concentrate on the words, so she just said, "I'll have what she's having." While Isabelle couldn't cook to save her life, she always knew what to order.

"All of them to go," Isabelle chimed. Flav nodded, collected their booklets, and meandered off. Once he was out of earshot, Isabelle leaned in and placed her elbows on the table. Except for the whip-bracelet and her runes, her arms were bare. Unusual, for Isabelle, but Clary didn't have time to worry about it. "What is it?" Isabelle asked urgently, her voice low. "What happened?"

"I was, um, just wondering where I, uh, know Flav from," Clary rambled.

"Oh," Isabelle said, leaning back in her seat, clearly understanding Clary's message: _not here_. "I think I saw him at Magnus's last party, remember?"

"Yeah, I 'spose so," Clary agreed. "Wasn't he, uh, bartending?" Isabelle rolled her eyes. _You are such a bad actress,_ she mouthed. "He makes a mean raspberry daiquiri," she said. "Which is, incidentally, what I ordered."

Clary paled. "You ordered alcohol?" she whispered. Isabelle snickered. "No, silly," she giggled. "I ordered a raspberry daiquiri-flavored _smoothie_. Non-alcoholic. What, you really thought I would get drunk this early in the day?" Clary shrugged, averting her eyes. "You didn't seem to have any trouble last week."

Isabelle frowned. "That doesn't count. Simon dared me to with his stupid little mundane game."

"It's not stupid," Clary protested. "Well, I guess it is, but it's fun too."

"Only if you're the lucky one."

"Well, yeah, but…well, yeah," Clary finished lamely, as Flav reappeared with their orders. Isabelle paid and they left, each clutching a paper take-out bag. Clary peeked into hers as they walked. "Um, we ordered fries?" she said tentatively as they rounded the block.

"Oops," Isabelle said, handing her the other bag as she dug for her keys. "The boys asked for burgers and fries. Ours is in here."

'Ours' turned out to be two tall, sweating paper cups and two white Styrofoam containers the size of small dinner plates. Isabelle found two sets of cutlery, then hollered, "Jace! Alec! Food's here!" The sound of pounding feet reached Clary's ears just before the door burst open and the boys tumbled in. "Hey there, kiddo," Jace said once he'd righted himself. "Did you get me a double cheeseburger?"

Isabelle scowled. "Don't call me that."

"Did you?"

She sighed. "It's in the bag."

"You rock." Jace ruffled her hair and ran out the door, Alec on his heels. "You still owe me twenty bucks!" Isabelle yelled after them. Her grin faded as she turned on Clary. "Alright, girly, what happened in the restaurant?"

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 1878**

**3:52 PM**

Mortmain paced his study floor. With a yell, he brought his closed fist down against the edge of his desk. It had been more than a week, and both his agents had failed to turn up anything of use. Time was running out, and Charlotte Branwell still lived.

_()()()_

**MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**OCTOBER 2007**

**11:36 AM**

Isabelle leaned back, stirring her smoothie thoughtfully. "Have you ever had this dream before?"

Clary shook her head. "D'you think Uriel was trying to tell me something?"

"Doubt it. His dreams always include runes, don't they?"

"There _was_ a rune I've never seen before." Clary pulled out her stele and doodled a rough interpretation of the Mark she'd seen on the tiny woman and the tall man at her side on the Styrofoam lid of her pancake container. Isabelle turned the carton around and assessed the calligraphic black swirls for a moment. Then she laughed out loud. "Oh, I know what this is. But you wrote it wrong." She drew out her own stele and corrected it so it looked like two intertwined ivy vines. "It's a binding Mark, for rituals. This one is a Promise rune. It means they're married."

Clary stared. "Shadowhunters have to get _Marked_ to be married?" she asked in disbelief. Isabelle nodded. "Yeah. I mean, Shadowhunters are usually faithful to their partner until death, but the Promise rune reinforces it. It used to be required, but I think it's optional now. Most people do it anyways, though. Pride or tradition or something. Didn't Jace tell you that?"

"No. He never said anything about a Promise rune." Clary paused. "What happens if they get divorced or stop loving each other or something?"

"It fades. It's powered by emotions, not energies, like most Marks are."

"What about an arranged marriage?"

"It burns the recipient. You end up with a scar instead of a Mark. Ugly, too."

Clary blinked. "You've…seen this?"

Isabelle shrugged, suddenly absorbed in her smoothie. "A past grandfather of mine, Benedict Lightwood, married his wife for her family name, then cheated on her about a thousand times. That's what happens when the bond is frayed by one but not the other. The rule breaker is branded by their own vow."

"Is it painful?"

Isabelle snorted. "What do you think? Of course it's painful. Come on, I'll show you the picture."

One elevator ride and twelve staircases later, Clary sat down. "I give up. I thought we were going to see a picture, not the rooftop."

"We're almost there, Clary," Isabelle's voice called from around a corner. "So get your butt off the floor and into this room." Clary shook her legs out and trudged down the corridor and into what appeared to be an old, unused sitting room. "Found it!" Isabelle said gleefully as Clary threw herself onto an antique-looking armchair, sneezing as the action produced a dense cloud of dust. Isabelle settled herself onto a ruby red divan beside her. In her hands was a thick leather tome. _Lightwood_was written across the cover, in fancy gold script. Isabelle flipped it open to the back pages. "Look, this is the family tree. There's me and Alec and Jace and…Max."

She suddenly looked so sad that Clary reached out and hugged her. After a moment, Isabelle sniffed and they broke apart. "This is Benedict Lightwood." She jabbed at a name near the top of the page. "A self-righteous asshole, if you ask me. Just don't let Dad hear you saying that. He gets all mad when we insult Gramps. Anyways, see all those lines there? He killed his wife after his grandkid Charles married Sophia Somebody-or-other. Chuck was apparently disowned, but when Dick died about six months later, his son Gabriel brought Chuck and his wife and their unborn baby back into the picture." Clary looked and saw Isabelle was right. "Hey, they named him Alexander," she pointed out.

"Alec was named after him," Isabelle said. "I was named after his sister, see? Alexander J. Lightwood and Isabelle C. Lightwood. There's a lot of repeating names in our history." She flipped a few pages. "That's Chuck and Sophia there, and their cat. Looks a bit like Church, doesn't he?"

Isabelle had Sophia's eyes, Clary thought, large and dark and almond-shaped. They shared a sensuous Cupid's bow mouth, pale skin, and thick black hair. Charles did look quite a bit like Alec, though had a slightly more refined air about him. Sophia looked to be in the early months of pregnancy. They'd broken the stiff twentieth century mold and were standing, Sophia in front of her husband. Both his arms were wrapped around her waist, his hands cradling the lush curve of her belly. One of her hands rested lightly on top of his. The other reached up behind her and disappeared behind his neck. They looked happy, and in love. Clary could see the woman's Promise rune, jet-toned ink against the smooth pale canvas of her skin. The man's peeked out from beneath the cuff of his shirt. Church's doppelganger sat in the corner, quietly observing them.

"It gave Dick a literal heart attack," Isabelle murmured, as caught in the moment as Clary. "He didn't know about it, and was weakened when the Enclave come knocking at his door. Apparently, he'd breached the code of conduct or something. Dropped dead in the middle of their questioning."

"She's so beautiful," Clary said. "So is he, I suppose, but her more."

Isabelle considered. "This picture was considered scandalous at the time," she said. "Back then, men wore these ridiculous million-piece monkey suits. I think what Chuck's wearing was called shirtsleeves, and you weren't supposed to see them. Kinda looks like Sophia's wearing my nightgown, though." Her eyes narrowed, calculating. "It looks a lot like my nightgown. Altered, I suppose, but it's an exact match."

"What about the runes?" Clary asked quickly. "Do they draw it on each other?"

"No. It's a big fancy ceremony. They hold hands and the Mark writes itself."

Clary blinked. "What?"

"The Mark writes itself," Isabelle repeated patiently. "They hold each other's left hands at the wrists and say this poem thing, and it just appears, I guess. Weird, huh?" She didn't wait for an answer and rifled through the book until she found the page she wanted. "This is Dick – I mean, Benedict Lightwood. There's his scar."

Clary sucked in a shocked breath. It was uglier than she'd anticipated, a bold proclamation of his infidelity. It didn't look like the Promise rune Isabelle had drawn and described. Instead, it seemed as if he was wearing a deadly arm warmer of some sort, one that started at the base of his thumb and completely blackened his arm for at least six inches. It looked like something that had burned slowly, over a long period of time. Intense, divine torture. Clary shuddered. Isabelle seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because she slammed the tome shut and said, "I hate history lessons, don't you?" Clary agreed, Isabelle replaced the ledger, and they made their way downstairs.

They walked into the kitchen, still chattering about the Promise rune.

And were promptly assaulted by flying spaghetti.

"Jace!" Isabelle screeched. "Alec! What the hell is this?"

"Just a little something for our favorite sister," Jace drawled. "Hey there, hot stuff," he added, slinging an arm around Clary's shoulders. "Wanna go out?"

"Have you been drinking?" Clary demanded, leaning away. Isabelle stood on her toes and peered into the kitchen. "You have!" she said angrily. "What did Mom tell you about drinking? You _know_ you both have, like, zero alcohol tolerance, and not to mention your _complexions_!" she moaned. "Oh, I am so screwed if Dad finds out. He's going to eat me alive, you idiots!"

"Iz-bella," Alec said earnestly, "yer not goin' ta be ea'den a'life. Hill flembay yer ferst." This statement was punctuated by hiccups and distinctly unmanly giggles.

"Izzy," Jace sing-songed. "Izzy, Izzy, Izzzzzy! FUCK OFF." He flipped Isabelle the bird.

"Hey!" Clary yelped, shoving him away. "You be nice to her!"

Jace merely danced around them, still singing his newfound song. "Izzy, Izzy, Izzzzzzy! Fuck off! Izzy, Iz –"

"SHUT UP!" Clary screamed, all her shock spilling out into anger. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Do you understand me? _Shut up_!"

Jace ignored her. "Izzy, Izzy, Izzzzzzzzzzzzy! Fu – "

Clary slapped him. Alec muffled an ill-disguised snicker. Church hissed and shot out of the room. Isabelle sighed. "I _told_ you not to underestimate the short one," she mumbled. Clary was too irked to care. "You ASSHOLE!" she yelled, kicking him in the shin. "You moronic, ungrateful asshole! Leave her alone!" With one more hard kick for good measure, she ran out the door, not caring that she was acting like a child.

Crying, she slammed her door. The satisfying crash resounded as she locked it and threw herself onto her bed. She wasn't sure why she was crying – it was Isabelle who'd been insulted. Two tentative knocks sounded on the door. "Go 'way," Clary croaked. "I don't wanna talk."

"Yes you do," Isabelle's voice called.

"No. Don't wanna."

"If you don't unlock it, I'll use a rune. You're fighting a losing battle, girly."

"No."

A sigh. "Jace is an asshole."

"No."

"Jace is a moronic, ungrateful asshole."

"Fine."

"Ah, too late." The door swung open and Isabelle strolled in, tucking something into her hair, leaving the door gaping into the hallway. "I picked the lock already."

"Mumph." Clary pathetically flopped back onto her stomach from where she'd half-risen to get the door. "Murph minph munpht."

"You're talking to your pillow." Isabelle didn't sound very impressed. "In Swedish. English, Clary. Even the most glamorous don't speak twenty languages, you know."

Clary raised her head a fraction of an inch. "I can't believe he said that." She mashed it into the pillowcase again. Isabelle chuckled darkly. "I can. He does it all the time when he's _not_ drunk. He's kinder when he is."

"You're his sister."

"So?" Isabelle sat on the corner of the bad and patted Clary's heel. "It's, like, his favorite reason to pick on me."

"He should be nicer."

"Hear, hear." She paused. "Scratch that. I'd have to be nice too." She wrinkled her nose. Clary let out a reluctant giggle and shifted to look at her friend. "See?" Isabelle perked up. "It's not so bad. You just gotta learn to ignore him." She rolled her eyes skyward. "The Angel knows _we_ all do."

"Still." Clary propped herself up on one elbow. "Can't you at least scratch him or something?"

"Scratching is for mundane girls," Isabelle informed her, sniffing. "_Slapping_is for Shadowhunter girls." She winked. Clary smiled back.

"IZZY, IZZY, IZZZZZZZZZZZZZY! FUCK OFF! IZZY, IZZ – "

The Izzy in question sighed. "Then again, scratching _is_ a satisfying alternative." Somewhere in the Institute, something broke with a musical tinkle. Church streaked into the room and jumped onto the bed, spitting. "See?" Isabelle gestured at the cat. "Church agrees with me."

Church, Clary noticed, looked rather smug at that. "Miaow," he approved.

"OH, SPAGHETTI AND MEEEEATBALLLLLLLLLLLLS…ALL COVERED IN CHEESEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…."

Clary winced. "What the hash is _that_?"

Isabelle examined her nails. "That's just the boys," she said nonchalantly. "They always do this. No biggie."

"…AND SOMEBODY SNEEEEEEEEZED…AND THEN MY POOR MEEEEEEEEEEEATBALL….TURNED INTO A TREEEEEEEEEEEEE…"

"Do they ever shut up?" Clary wailed.

"Ignore them," Isabelle advised. "I do. How do you think I've survived all these years?"

Clary shrugged. "By threatening to give them makeovers?"

"That too."

"…NOW I KNOW MY ABCSSSSSSSSSSSSS…NEXT TIME WON'T YOU SING WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…" Something else broke. Church arched his back, hissed, leapt off the bed, and darted out of the room to look for a safer hiding place. Clary was seriously considering following him when Alec stumbled through the door. Jace burst in after him, still singing at the top of his lungs. "FROSTYYYYY THE SNOOOOOWMANNNNNNNNNNNN…WAS A HAPPYYY JOLLYYYYYYY SOUUUUUUUUUUL…WITH A CORNCOOOB PIIIIIPE ANDDDD AAAA BUTTOOOOOOOOOOOOON NOOOOSE…AND TWOOOO EYESSSSSSSS MADE OUT OF COAAAAAAAAAAAAAL…" He caught sight of Isabelle, still sitting on the edge of Clary's bed, and switched songs at top tack. "Izzy, Izzy, Izzzzzzzzzzzzy! Fuck off! Izzy, Izzy, Izzzzzzzzy! Fuck off! Iz – "

Isabelle calmly got off the bed and bodily shoved Jace out the door. Alec followed, as docile as a sedated puppy. When she turned back, Clary was standing with her stele in one hand and her new canvas backpack in the other. "Um," Isabelle said, clearly confused, "what are you doing?"

"I'm getting out of here," Clary said through gritted teeth. "I need to leave until Jace is sober."

"How? Are you planning to, like, teleport or something?"

"I'm Portaling." Clary moved to the wall and placed the tip of her stele against the yellow paint job. "I'll be back in a while."

"I'm coming with you." Isabelle moved to her side and stood resolutely. Clary briefly considered telling her no, but knew that Isabelle would follow her anyways. "Fine." Isabelle looked surprised at Clary's easy concurrence, but said nothing. "Do you have your stele?"

"Yes. Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Away. What about your whip? And your boots?"

"They're both on me. What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean we'll go wherever my Portal takes us."

"So it's like party hopping with a blind date." Isabelle grinned. "Sounds fun."

Clary grunted as a fresh Portal swirled open on her wall, blue and inviting. "Take us somewhere far," she said to it, ignoring Isabelle's noise of protest. "So far away, it's like we never existed." She stepped through the Portal without another word and didn't look back.

_()()()_

**Who thinks Mortmain secretly wants to kill Henry and marry Charlotte himself? 'Cause he's starting to act like it. But that's not the plot, and I didn't just wreck it :D**

**The plain English translation of what Alec said is: "Isabelle, you're not going to be eaten alive. He'll flambé you first."**

**Xoxo Heimarmene **


	3. Landing

**Fresh pages are daunting.**

**Chapter Two: _Landing_**

_()()()_

**London, England**

**September 23, 1878**

**6:54 PM**

Clary was freefalling. Isabelle, beside her, was laughing; her arms spread from her sides like a bird's, hair whipping past her elfin face. Clary stifled a shriek as they tumbled through nothingness. Then, suddenly, a skyline appeared beneath them. This time Clary did scream. Isabelle's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, relax, Clary," she said. "I've done this before. You don't make that big an impact."

Clary wanted to say _Thanks but no thanks_, but didn't open her mouth in fear of her pancakes and smoothie making a reappearance. She settled on squinching her eyes closed and tucking herself into a ball as they continued to plummet, with no signs of stopping.

"That was fun!" she heard Isabelle's voice shout somewhere above her head. "Let's go again!" A moment later, Clary felt a jerk somewhere behind her navel, like a giant string being pulled taut. Then it dropped her.

The shock of cold water consumed her, played with her hair, promised to snuff out her flame. Panicking, Clary paddled in the direction she thought was up. As her head broke the surface of what she discovered to be a choppy grey river, a wave broke over her head. Unprepared, she inhaled a mouthful of water and came up choking. The undertow caught her legs and started dragging her beneath. The water was blocking her windpipe. She couldn't breathe, couldn't feel her numb limbs in the freezing water. She turned her face towards the dimly setting sun. The last thing she saw was Isabelle, executing a perfect swan dive off the bridge above her. _Don't jump_, she wanted to scream. _You'll die. Just like me_.

_()()()_

…_Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority – of its being a degradation – of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit…_

Tessa set down her book and let out a long-suffering sigh. No man had ever made such a proposal to her, rude as Darcy's may have seemed. Will had never asked, merely taken. Mortmain demanded, Thomas had never been the slightest bit interested, and Henry even less so. But Jem…Jem was a gentleman. Try as she might, she could not imagine him doing anything as callous as insulting a lady. Even his jabs at Will were mild and good-natured, whereas Will used his wit solely to wound or retaliate.

Her reverie was broken by its subject bursting through the library's doors. She set her book down on the chair's arm and braced herself for battle, turning in her seat to address him. "Mr. Herondale."

He appraised her with intense blue eyes. "Miss Gray."

"Why have you come here?"

"My, we're in a mood today, aren't we?"

"Speak for yourself," Tessa mumbled under her breath.

"What's that, my dear?"

Tessa raised her chin, eyes flashing. "Speak for yourself, Mr. Herondale; you're always in a mood."

Will chuckled infuriatingly. "That I am, though I've been told I have my moments. Don't you want to know why I've invaded your precious privacy?"

"Not particularly." Tessa turned back to the copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ that Charlotte had bought her. The spine was stiff with newness and cracked when she opened it. It had that smell that all new books had, with a faint undertone of the warm cinnamon scent that followed Charlotte everywhere.

"No need to demure, Miss Gray. I'm sure you're secretly burning to know what news I have brought."

"Unless you're here to announce that you've decided to leave me alone for the rest of my days, I don't want to hear." She turned a page. Will threw himself into the chair across from hers, slouching and scowling. "You make everything so hard."

"Hm." Tessa mentally chided Elizabeth for taking a turn about the grove where Darcy hid with his letter.

"Very well, I suppose you'll be told either way. Charlotte just met Magnus. He said there has been unregistered Portal activity near the Thames. Scared the tosh out of the mudlarks, it did." He paused for effect. Tessa said nothing, merely progressed to the next page. Will made a noise of exasperation. "You really don't care, do you?" he said. Tessa looked up. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" she asked. Will leapt out of his seat and stalked out of the room, smoldering. Tessa settled back into her book.

A moment later, the doors opened again. Tessa twisted to face Will, preparing to give him a piece of her mind. "Mr. Herondale, I believe I told you to leave me _alone_ – "

"Thus he said." Charlotte moved into the circle of Tessa's view. "Nor did he seem very pleased about it."

"Oh. Hello, Charlotte." Tessa slumped back into the plush armchair. "I suppose you've come to tell me off?"

"Not in the slightest." Charlotte perched on the arm of Will's recently vacated chair. She was wearing her black fighting gear, dark hair twisted into a chignon at the back of her neck. Marks twisted designs on

what milky skin that wasn't covered. "Rather, I'm here to relay what information Will failed to deliver."

"I wasn't listening to him, really," Tessa admitted. "I – we aren't speaking at the moment."

"So I've gathered." Charlotte smiled wryly. "Magnus Bane – you remember him, the warlock?"

Tessa flashed back to de Quincey's party. "The one with the peculiar eyes? Lady Belcourt's lover?"

"Yes, that's him. He arrived here ten minutes ago to inform us of an unauthorized Portal near the Thames. The boys, Henry and myself are going there to investigate, and if needed, intervene. We wanted you to know that you, Sophie, and Jessamine will be alone." She stood, again reminding Tessa how small she really was. "We will be back as soon as possible. Try not to irritate Jessamine. Poor Sophie's just about at her wit's end."

"Be careful, Charlotte, you and Henry. I couldn't bear it if you didn't return." The words popped out of Tessa's mouth, true but unbidden. Charlotte smiled. "Do not worry, Theresa. We will come back." She pressed a butterfly's kiss to Tessa's forehead, straightened, and was gone.

_()()()_

The first thing Clary was aware of was the insistent, almost painful, pressure on her chest, pumping and forcing. Trying to make her breath. Coughing, she slitted her eyes open against the crisp night air. There was a sigh from somewhere above her, and Isabelle moved into view. "Clary," she muttered, "don't _ever_ do that again. If you weren't half-dead, I'd totally kill you for that stunt."

"Nice to know you care," Clary rasped, rolling onto her stomach. "What the hell happened?" Isabelle sat back on her heels and considered her friend. "Your Portal spit us out over the city. I landed on the bridge rail, but you were on the wrong side and it dropped you into the river. I saw you going under and dove in." She spread her hands as if to say _And here we are now_.

"Thanks." Clary tried to sit up and was immediately pushed back down by Isabelle. "Not so fast," she said. "You nearly drowned, like, less than ten minutes ago. You'll be nauseous and dizzy. I'll let you know when you can get up."

"Fine." Clary looked around. "Where are we?"

Isabelle shook her head. "I have no idea. I've never seen this place, or anything like it. It's so…old-looking, y'know? No telephone poles or clubs or prostitutes or anything. It's really weird." She twisted her whip around her arm in agitation. "So old," she repeated quietly. Her eyes widened. "D'you think we went back in time?"

Clary snorted derisively. "Wasn't it you who told me Portals only work in the current timeframe?"

"I suppose." Still, Isabelle uncoiled her whip and held it tightly. "But it doesn't feel right. I can't explain it. It's…it's all wrong. Like we're not supposed to be here."

Clary shrugged as well as she could, still lying on the ground. "It feels fine to me."

Isabelle frowned. "You've been a Shadowhunter for what, four months? If it's all the same to you, I'd rather we trust _my_ instincts. Last time we trusted yours, where did we end up?"

"McDonald's. And we got a free meal."

"_After_we nearly got killed by the guys robbing the place. Two of which, might I add, had the Sight. No, we're trusting mine."

"We got out, though."

"No thanks to you. All you did was cower behind that bald guy and yell 'They've got guns, they've got guns' the entire time."

"I tripped one," Clary protested.

"Look," Isabelle snapped. "Do you want to die or not?" Clary shook her head. "Then shut up, and let me do my thing." She stood abruptly and tucked her stele into a pocket, one hand jumping to her neck. "There's something out there, I can feel it. It's not very close, but it's within a mile. Try sitting. We might have to run; you're in no condition to fight."

Clary obediently pulled herself into a sitting position. To her gratification, it brought no pain or dizziness. "I think I'll be able to stand, Izzy."

Isabelle sucked in a breath, tightening her grip on the whip's handle. "Holy _shit_, it's fast. It's nearly here. Clary, get up and go hide. There's no time to run. The thing'll smell us out if we try going anywhere."

"But –"

"Go! Now! I'm not joking, Clarissa, this thing will try to kill you if it knows where you are. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

Clary scrambled to her feet and desperately cast around for a hiding place. They were standing under a bridge, the bridge Clary had seen Isabelle dive from. She looked up. Forty feet above her head was a small balcony, probably for maintenance. Leading down from it was a set of metal stairs. Clary took them two at a time. "Barricade the staircase!" Isabelle called up. "Don't give it access to you, whatever it is."

"Wait!" Clary rummaged in her backpack frantically. "Here, these were in my bag when we left. Catch!" She dropped two seraph blades and a _chakram_over the railing. Isabelle darted forward to catch them. Tucking them into her belt, she stiffened as the pendant gave an insistent throb. Something creaked behind her. She whirled around just in time to see robot, glinting in the dark.

"What the hell?" she heard Clary shout. The creature didn't seem to hear her friend, just kept advancing. Her arm with the whip raised without thought; it slashed down through the top of the thing's head and torso and out between its legs. Shuddering, it dropped like a stone to the cobblestones at Isabelle's feet, spasming and leaking all manners of fluid. Looking at it closely, she saw it was not a robot but a man made of metal. It was almost realistic, with perfectly laid skin and clothes. Its eyes bugged out disconcertingly, like a human frog's might. She felt her lip curl in disgust as she kicked the remnants away from herself.

"_Isabelle!_" Clary shrieked. "There's more!"

Isabelle spun and leapt out of the reaching grasp of the second automaton. It stopped, changed direction, and charged her again. It was fast, faster than its predecessor, but no match for her. She flicked her wrist, and a length of thickly twined electrum wire sheared through its neck. "It brought friends," she heard Clary warn as three more appeared from the shadows. They were as swift as the last one, but less controlled, jerky. They approached with all the grace of a duck on land, though rapid. "Oh, hell," Isabelle muttered, shoving the whip into her boot and drawing a seraph blade from her belt. "_Makiel_," she hissed at it, swinging it in an arc. The creatures dodged it and kept coming at her. Cursing, she plunged it into the chest of the nearest one. It came out slick with something dark. Not blood, but some other liquid she couldn't identify. The thing didn't even falter, hands straining for her throat. She finished it with decapitation.

As she turned to the fourth, something dark hurtled to a stop not twenty feet from her. A door opened and more creatures poured from it, three men and a woman. Without thinking, Isabelle snatched the _chakram_ and flung it towards them. It whizzed past the men and hit home, burying itself in the woman's chest. Both hands flew to her breast, from which fluid flowed freely. She made a very human noise of pain and collapsed, which stopped all three of her companions in their tracks. Isabelle seized her chance and sank her blade into the fourth automaton, driving the glowing metal up, up through the top of its head. One of the new men snatched up the woman and ran her back to their vehicle. The others advanced quickly, murder in their eyes.

Making quick work of the fifth creature, Isabelle turned, and, having long ago abandoned her whip, plucked the second blade from her belt and yelled, "_Japhael!_" Then the sixth and seventh men were upon her. They fought well, better than the previous things. They looked wholly human. The taller of them wielded a massive sword. The younger one held a seraph blade. _Why could a demon handle the angel's own blade?,_ Isabelle wondered, dodging his first attack. She fought them both at once, a glowing knife in each hand. Then, without warning, _Makiel_ died, leaving her with a plain blessed steel blade. Swearing viciously, she flung it towards the tall one, who evaded it and darted forward to twist her arm behind her back before she had time to go for her whip. There was no sign of the white-haired one or the woman from their oddly-shaped car. "What are you?" the creature holding her snarled in her ear.

"I am Nephilim!" Isabelle shouted, still fighting the other, who had dark hair. "I am flesh, blood, and soul, which is more than you'll ever be!"

"Henry," grunted the dark-haired one, "what the hell is she on about?"

"Where do you come from?" the thing called Henry growled. "Answer me!"

"I won't tell you, you monster!"

"What harm do you wish against my wife?" Henry increased the pressure on her arm to nearly breaking point. The dark-haired one's blade fizzled out suddenly. Isabelle managed to grate_Japhael_against his collarbone before he jumped out of her reach. "You bitch," he cried angrily. "First you kill Charlotte, then this! _What the hell are you_?"

"I am Nephilim, insolent Downworlder!" Isabelle screeched, thrashing wildly in Henry's grasp. "Demon-slayer! Blessed mortal!"

"Who do you work for?" Henry roared. "Mortmain? Tell me!"

"I work for no one, you bastard! I don't even know who Mortmain is! Let me go, or I'll drive this blade through your eye!"

The dark-haired one knocked the knife from her grip. In retaliation, she kicked him in the jaw, sending him flying. He landed a few meters away, sprawled on his back. For a moment, Isabelle was worried she'd killed him, as the Accords banned this. Then she realized she didn't care. _Japhael_spluttered out at her feet. Enraged, he picked himself up and rushed her. She punched him in the nose with her free hand. He recoiled, clutching it. "Henry, she broke my nose!"

Henry pressed the sword against Isabelle's throat. Glowering, she grew very still. "You bastard."

"Why are you here? Who sent you?"

"I refuse to answer."

"Then you will die, demon." The third man had exited the vehicle without her noticing. He stood beside Henry now, just out of her range of sight.

"I'm not a frigging demon, Downworlder!" she yelled. "I already told you that! Let me go!"

"If you are not one of the soulless, then what are you?"

"She claims she's one of the Nephilim," the one whose nose she'd broken said. "I don't believe her. I think she's a werewolf. She certainly has the strength and sheer idiocy."

"What a lovely coincidence," the third man said, ignoring his comrade. "So am I."

"JAMES," said the second man.

"Be quiet, William," James said. "I know perfectly well what I am doing." He stepped in front of Isabelle, rolling up his sleeves so she could see his forearms, inked with swirling black Marks. "See? I'm just like you." When she bared her teeth at him, he turned to his friend. "Will, show her yours. Maybe she'll believe us then."

Will, staying well out of Isabelle's reach, pushed up one sleeve long enough for her to glimpse the same runes she herself carried. "Fine," she said. "But if you're one of us, then why am I being attacked and held by you?"

"You attacked us first," James reminded her, not unkindly. "We assumed you were crazed for not recognizing us, and we acted accordingly."

"Only because I was fighting your pets!"

"Our pets? Oh, you mean the clockwork army. No, those aren't ours," James said. "They're Mortmain's. We thought you were a servant of his."

"Hell, no. I don't even know who Mortmain is."

"I believe you. You're not from around here, are you? Oh, you can let her go, Henry," he added. "Go to Charlotte. She wants to see you."

"So she's not dead?" Will inquired as Henry released Isabelle and dashed to their vehicle.

"She was alive when I left her."

"Where is 'here'?" Isabelle interrupted, scowling as she rubbed the circulation back into her arm. James and Will gave her identical looks of shock. "Seriously, where am I?"

"You mean you really don't know?" James said quietly.

"No, Jem, she's actually just retarded and forgot to check the calendar this morning," Will said scathingly.

"Shut up, Willie," Isabelle said. Jem snickered. "We're in London, England," he said to Isabelle. "Today is the twenty third of September."

"No way. It's October the fifth." Isabelle paled. "Oh, God, what year is it?"

Now Jem looked confused. "Eighteen seventy-eight."

"Oh, shit!' Isabelle yelled, wheeling around to face the bridge. "Clary! Get down here! _We fucking time-traveled!"_

To Jem and Will's astonishment, there was a crash and someone with bright hair leaned over the railing. "You said it wasn't possible!"

"Apparently, it is now," Isabelle said darkly. Then, louder, "Get your ass down here!"

There was a muffled, "I'm coming, Izzy, hold on, I've almost got it – oh, crap!" There was a tremendous bang and the bright-haired figure appeared at the top of the stairs, cradling their hand. As they descended, Jem realized it was, indeed, a girl. A girl whose attire was even stranger than the black-haired girl's.

"You were too literal in asking the Portal to take us so far away we wouldn't exist," Isabelle said unhappily. "We got shipped to Nowhere land."

"What does that mean for Jace and Alec?" Clary asked.

"They're probably still drunk. When they get sober, I bet they'll discover us missing, but they'll never find us, not without Magnus. And I doubt he can reach us here," Isabelle grumbled.

"Magnus? We know a Magnus," Will said. "Peculiar little man, isn't he?"

"Yes, yes," Jem said impatiently, "but here isn't the place for it. Let's take them back to the Institute. They can tell us what happened once we're all together."

"Very well." Will scowled at Isabelle.

"Oh, we've been rude. Allow me to introduce myself," Jem continued. "I am James Carstairs, though commonly addressed as Jem. This is William Herondale – "

" – And he prefers to be called Will," Will announced.

"Clarissa Fairchild-Greymark," Clary said. "But if you call me Clarissa, I'll castrate you. Just Clary is fine."

"I like this one better," Will said. Isabelle stuck her tongue out. "Uptight bastard."

"Nose-breaking bitch."

"What's your name?" Jem intervened.

"Isabelle Lightwood," Isabelle said. Jem and Will shared a glance. "You mean Gabriel finally found a girl desperate enough to marry him?" Will sniggered.

"Who's Gabriel?" Isabelle demanded.

"We'll explain at the Institute," Jem said. "Come, I have to check on Henry and Charlotte. If I know Charlotte, she'll be worried that you attacked us again, Miss Lightwood."

"Isabelle."

He smiled. "Isabelle. Or do you prefer Belle?"

"Most people just call me Izzy."

"But Belle suits you so much better, as it means beauty in French." Isabelle flushed and lowered her gaze. Clary blinked. Isabelle was usually coy and sexy, not shy.

"That's all very well," Will interrupted impatiently, "but don't we have someone to check on?"

"Of course." Jem moved towards what Clary saw to be a carriage, Isabelle and Will following. Clary hurried to catch up with them. Jem held the carriage's door open to Isabelle. "Ladies," he said. Isabelle thanked him and climbed in gracefully. Clary clambered in after her, far less so.

In the far corner sat the woman Isabelle had wounded, though she was partially blocked by Henry. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," Isabelle cried when she saw Charlotte's legs. "I thought you were one of the clockwork demons!"

"She can't hear you," Jem said, closing the door behind himself.

Isabelle looked stricken as the carriage lurched forward. "Did I kill her?"

"No. Not yet, at least. I can't tell if it's fatal. We need to get to the Institute. Henry, how is she?"

Henry turned halfway in his seat, concerning playing out in his hazel eyes. "She's declining, and fast. I don't know if she'll stay with us until we reach the Institute." He drew something from his pocket as the carriage rocketed over a bump in the road. Charlotte cried out in agony, her small body being thrown around like a paper in a storm. "Jem, contact the Silent Brothers. Tell them we'll meet Brother Enoch at the Institute. We haven't much time."

_()()()_

The Magister blinked in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's what he said, sir," Nathaniel said eagerly. "Two girls. Just appeared from the sky. No one knows who they are or where they're from. He believes they're angels of some sort."

"Interesting." Mortmain knocked the blotter from his desk in agitation. "Is that all?"

"Yes, sir. Fredrichs claims he left when the Shadowhunters arrived."

"So they have the angels."

"Yes, sir."

"God damn it!" Mortmain pounded his desk furiously. Nathaniel skittered back nervously. "Why did I not know about this sooner, Gray?"

"I-I'm s-sorry, s-sir, Fredrichs j-just ar-rived…"

"Get him in here, now!" Mortmain roared. "NOW!"

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir, right away, sir –" Nathaniel backed out of the room apologizing. Mortmain slumped back in his chair once he was alone. It had been nearly two weeks, and this was only the third time either of his henchmen had reported back. It was the first time any information of interest had been presented, however. The other two had been juvenile tidbits, such as her maiden name. Mortmain had yelled and raged and threatened, but nothing had come to his ears.

Until now.

Nathaniel burst into the study, breathing hard. He'd obviously run the distance there and back, and Mortmain almost appreciated his efforts. "He's _gone_, sir," he wheezed. "Just gone. Nothing. The footman didn't let him out."

Mortmain's anger was almost tangible. The Pyxis, on its pedestal behind him, crackled with energy. Nathaniel shrank back. "I will have the angels," he thundered. "Gray, have my carriage readied. I leave within the hour."

"Yes, sir!" Nathaniel's voice was high with fear. Mortmain could almost taste his terror, cut it, squeeze it in his hand. He smiled.

A quarter hour later found Mortmain striding from his town house to his stagecoach, cane in one hand, knife in the other, murder on his lips.

_()()()_

**xoxo heimarmene **


	4. Missing

**Lucky you, you're getting another chapter :) Thanks to all who reviewed/faved/story-author alerted!**

**Dedicated to the Nonbeliever Carrot, because she was a good friend for that wonderful year.**

_**Chapter 3: Missing**_

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1878**

**7:27 PM**

Sophie was polishing the silverware when he arrived. _Where is the one they have called for, child?_ He asked. She jumped and screamed; holding a soup spoon like a sword, she turned to the intruder. Calmly, Brother Enoch lifted the parchment-colored hood of his heavy cloak, revealing a grossly disfigured visage.

"B-Brother En-noch," Sophie stammered. "I wasn't expecting you, sir."

_I have received an emergency call from your master._

"Has something happened to Master Jem?" Sophie inquired fearfully.

_No. I believe it is your mother._

"My mother has been dead for fifteen years," she said coldly, previous dread forgotten.

_My apologies._ The Brother inclined his head slightly_. I was referring to Charlotte Branwell._

Sophie dropped the polishing cloth. "What happened?" she cried.

_They will be here in a moment,_Enoch continued, unperturbed. _And we shall see._

Tessa was still reading when Sophie burst into the library. "Miss Tessa, Miss Tessa," she blurted breathlessly. "You must come – it's Brother Enoch."

"What happened?" Tessa cried. "What news does he bring?"

"It's – it's Mrs. Branwell, he said." Sophie gasped for air. Tessa realized the other girl was struggling not to cry. "He said she has fallen in battle. Oh, Miss Tessa, she may not be revived! What are we to do?"

_Behold, they come._

Tessa jumped and wheeled around. Brother Enoch stood at the door, completely still. He looked like a perfectly carved statue, silent and stony. _Miss Gray, Miss Collins_. Tessa dropped an uneven curtsey, startled by his soundless appearance. "Is it true, sir?" she asked. "About Charlotte?"

_It is what they have told me_, he said. _Come. They arrive in grave company_. He turned and floated down the corridor, robes unmoving. Tessa and Sophie followed at a pace far behind, clutching each other's hands, neither wanting to be in the Brother's presence.

Presently, they arrived at the Institute's door. Enoch pushed them aside easily and continued down into the stone courtyard, his steps measured and unhurried. He stopped in the midst of the square as the gates burst open. A carriage hurtled through, Will at the reins, the horses' hooves pounding the rock. Will brought them to a halt inches from the hem of the Brother's robes.

_Master Herondale._ Enoch inclined his head unworriedly.

"Brother," Will panted. Then, louder, "Sophie, have the infirmary prepared! We are in need of it at once." Tessa thought Sophie gasped something akin to consent. The serving girl's hand convulsed around her own, trembling and clammy. "Come, Miss," she managed. "After battle - 'tis not a sight a lady ought to see."

"I – need to ask Jem something," Tessa invented. "Really, I'll be along in a moment."

Sophie looked torn. "If you must, Miss," she blurted. "But do not look upon Mrs. Branwell with leisure." She rushed off, sparing behind her not a glance. Tessa was suddenly alone on the steps, feeling very small, and somewhere not very deeply buried, afraid of what was to come.

_()()()_

**MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**OCTOBER 2007**

**2:34 AM**

Magnus Bane was not a meddler. He did not go poking his nose into others' business. He did not pry for the latest gossip – no, he read the Downworld edition of _US Weekly_for that. (And they did turn up some very juicy gossip indeed, especially that Meliorn fellow. A superb editor, if Magnus had ever seen one. Simply superb.) But no, Magnus Bane was not an intruder.

He was, however, a _very_prominent member of the Downworld grapevine. You must understand, his non-meddlership did apply here too – he merely passed along what he heard, never embellishing, never trimming the rumor. So when he heard of the Portal from the Institute, he was intrigued indeed.

You see, there are only two people who could open a Portal from within the hallowed ground. And seeing as Merlin was currently holidaying in the Bahamas, that led him to exactly one possible conclusion: _Clary_.

_()()()_

Jace had never liked hangovers. Admittedly, he'd never liked cucumbers or bergamot either, but at least _they_ didn't make him feel as if thousands of furious overweight clog dancers were clubbing inside his skull.

Stupid Alec.

Stupid vodka.

Stupid Alec for introducing him to the stupid vodka.

So when Magnus Bane came bursting in to his room at three o'clock AM, he was _not_ pleased.

"JACE!" he roared, throwing open the door and storming in. Alec followed meekly, looking rather abashed. "What's going on here?" Magnus continued. "Where are the girls? Answer me!" Jace threw an arm across his eyes as the warlock angrily yanked open the curtains. "Whuz' goin' on?" he mumbled sleepily. "It's, like," he checked his watch, "three o'clock! What's the deal? I need my beauty sleep."

"So do I," Magnus growled. "But when one's sister and girlfriend disappear, one generally gets their lazy behind out of bed and does something about it."

"What?" Jace was suddenly awake. "You got a sister and a chick?"

"No, you idiot!" Alec hissed. "_Our_ sister! _Your_ girlfriend! Isabelle! Clary! Ring any bells, dumbass?"

"Vaguely," Jace said. "Possibly. What about them?"

"They. Are. _Missing_." Magnus enunciated his words slowly and clearly. "For. Sixteen. _Hours_."

"And you're being an asshole," Alec added.

"Missing?" Jace swore. "God dammit, why didn't you tell me so?"

"We tried!" Alec yelled. "Does nothing get through your thick skull?"

"You, my friend, are in great danger of becoming Izzy," Jace observed. "And the Angel knows I can hardly handle one."

"And _you_ are in danger of becoming a stain on the wall if you don't start moving," Magnus retaliated. "Get up, angel boy, we have to trace the girls before the Portal's energy fades."

"The Portal?" Jace froze in the midst of swinging his legs out of bed. "They _Portaled_? From the Institute? That's impossible. They must have left from some other location, not here!"

"It was here, all right," Magnus said gravely, tossing Jace a shirt from his drawer. "This place positively _reeks_ of magic."

"Magic smells?" Jace looked up from pulling on his jeans. "They didn't teach us _that_ in history class."

"It smells like peppermint, hairspray, and at the moment, vodka," Magnus said irritably. "Go brush your teeth before you come near me again. Go have a shower, while you're at it. You smell like a graveyard. A rotting graveyard," he added after a moment's thought. "At any rate, you're disgusting. Scram."

"I'm not having a shower while my girlfriend's missing," Jace said angrily. "There is _no fucking way_ you can make me."

"You'd be surprised," Magnus said, examining his nails. "I can be really quite persuasive when I want to – "

"For God's sake," Alec cut in furiously, "do you two ever shut up? Izzy is _missing_ and all you're doing is arguing about showers!"

"I was – "

"He's – "

" – insufferable – "

" – unstable – "

" – unhygienic – "

" – _glittering_ – "

"What the hell," a new voice interrupted, "is going on?"

Jace sighed. "Vampire."

Simon Lewis nodded. "Shadowhunter."

"Can we please skip the niceties and get to work?" Magnus asked. "I haven't got all day, you know." Jace made a face before turning back to Simon. "Why are you here?" he asked. "I'm sure I'd remember inviting someone this ugly."

"Alec told me," Simon said coolly, "that Clary was missing."

Alec flushed. "I didn't tell you to _come_," he mumbled angrily. "I just thought you might want to know."

"Izzy said I could drop in whenever I liked," Simon replied. "I wasn't aware I'd been banned."

"Daylighter," Magnus said menacingly, "if you're going to stay, shut up. I have the most profound headache, and if you don't have ibuprofen on your person, I don't want to hear you. As for you," he added, "keep that godforsaken animal away from me."

"Who, Church?" Alec looked astonished. Magnus glowered. "Yes, yes, Church. Just keep it occupied. It's a bloodthirsty beast, I tell you."

"I like him," Simon said indignantly. "He introduced me to Izzy."

"_I_introduced you to Izzy," Jace said. "Church was merely a vessel of deception."

"I think," Magnus' voice contributed from the corridor, "that you should come out here and help me look for the Portal."

"I personally don't know what magic smells like," Jace said, scrounging up a fresh pair of socks. "So I can't imagine how I can be of any help."

"Well, then bring a flashlight," Magnus said rather grumpily. "I haven't got all day, you know."

"Yes," Simon said, "so you've told us. Is he usually this repetitive?" he asked Alec, who looked alarmed at being addressed. "Because I read somewhere that repetitive people are more likely to develop brain-related diseases later in life."

"You truly are a freak of nature," Jace told him. "No self-respecting teenage boy actually _reads_ that stuff."

"I must have very low self-esteem, then," Simon said. "I do believe you've wounded my fragile ego. I don't think I'll ever recover."

"Very funny, vampire," Alec said dryly.

Simon tipped an imaginary hat. "I try."

"How cozy," Jace said. "Now get out of my room." In response to the two blanks looks he received, he elaborated. "What? Do you _think_ I wake up looking like a movie star? I may be naturally perfect, but there's an awful lot of hard work required."

"Well, I'll be out in the hall trying to erase the image of you primping," Simon announced grandly. "If you need anything, don't call, because it's three in the morning and I've just been mentally scarred for life."

"And I'll…be with him," Alec finished lamely. "Bye."

"Good to know I can clear a room," Jace muttered to the walls a moment later. "You agree, don't you? I'm a class-A stud," he added to Church, who had slunk in. The Persian snorted noncommittally and jumped onto the bed. "Are you disagreeing with me?" Jace demanded. "How incredibly rude. No tuna for a week."

"Are you talking to the _cat_?" Simon's voice sniggered. Jace scowled. "No."

Simon was delighted. "You are so!" he crowed.

"I," Jace said with great dignity, "am not."

"Yes," Alec interrupted, "you are. Hurry up, Magnus hates waiting."

"Fine," Jace said, with bad grace. "But don't expect me to be nice about it."

"We never do," Alec said, setting off down the hall. "Find Magnus," he added to Church, who was meandering alongside. Church meowed conversationally and trotted ahead.

"Well, that's a fine example of gratitude," Jace sniped. "Who saved you from Izzy's wrath last week?"

"Mom did," Alec said promptly. "Izzy was throwing a spoon at you."

"She was _not_." Jace was appalled. "She was throwing it at _you_."

"I was on the other side of the stove, you idiot," Alec said. "She very clearly said, 'Shove off, Jace,' before flinging a soup spoon at your head."

"It was in my general direction," Jace countered. "It just happened to hit my lovely golden locks."

Simon shot Jace a sideways glance. "What self-respecting boy actually _says_ that stuff?" he mocked.

"I read it somewhere. Don't let it go to your head, vampire."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Shadowhunter."

They stopped at a door, barely a hallway from where they'd come. Jace recognized it in a heartbeat. It was a place he'd spent countless hours in, relaxed and content and happily in love.

Clary's room.

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1878**

**7:36 PM**

The next hour was a blur. Will was yelling. Yelling at her, Tessa realized belatedly, telling her to stand out of the way. She couldn't move, couldn't draw breath. Things were flashing by. Two girls, one tall and dark-haired, the other short and brightly colored, emerged from the carriage. The tall one leapt to the ground with the same agile grace she'd observed in Will, Jem, Charlotte, Henry, even Jessamine – the fluid, catlike gait with which they walked and moved and fought. The short one with the brilliant hair stumbled after her, nearly tripping in her haste to exit the carriage. Suddenly Brother Enoch was gliding soundlessly by Tessa's side; Henry was rushing behind him, Charlotte's tiny, bloodied body limp in his arms as he shouted back to the others.

_Charlotte's body._

Her sincere promise came rushing back to Tessa. "Do not worry, Theresa," she had said. "We will come back." She had honored her word – they _had_come back, but at what cost? One was close to death, another sporting what appeared to be a broken nose. Jem's hands were as bloody as the front of Charlotte's dress had been as he and Will conferred by the carriage. The girls, in their shocking attire, stood in the courtyard's middle ground. The short one was looking around in astonishment, while the taller looked agitated and uncomfortable.

Then Jem was beside her on the steps, his white hair falling in his silver eyes as his pale mouth moved, forming words Tessa could not hear. Somewhere behind him, Will cracked the reins and the horses charged around the side of the Institute, to the place Sophie had indicated as the stables. The girls had approached the bottom of the stone steps and were talking quietly, the dark-haired one shooting apprehensive glances towards her. _She's afraid of me_, Tessa realized with a jolt, _because she knows I'm not right_. Was she a sorceress? Clairvoyant? Tessa didn't know, nor did she care to know. All she wanted, in that moment, was for Jem to tell her that it would be all right, that Charlotte would be fine, that Jem would not lose the woman who loved him as a son, that she, Tessa, would not lose…What was Charlotte to her, exactly? Mother? Sister? Friend. Tessa refused to lose the only friend she had in the world – for Jessamine's smiles and favours were empty; Sophie was too fresh an acquaintance, too shy, to be properly called a friend; and Tessa found it increasingly harder to call Will and Jem merely friends. They were more to her than friends, of that she knew. But what, exactly, they _were,_was beyond her knowledge.

The latter's voice finally broke its way into her thoughts. "Tessa?" Jem was asking. "Tessa? Are you quite alright?"

"I am well," Tessa assured him dazedly. "Merely shocked. Sophie warned me and I – I did not listen."

"I am sorry that you had to see that," Jem said earnestly. "We're usually less conspicuous upon our return, and Brother Enoch is rarely called for – Charlotte takes care of our various injuries." A brief look of pain flashed across his face at the name. "Oh, how rude of me. Tessa, let me introduce you to our guests." The girls came to stand at his side as he spoke. "This," Jem said, gesturing to the smaller girl, who was closer to his side, "is Miss Clarissa Fairchild-Greymark."

"Clary," the girl muttered. "Not Clarissa."

A ghost of a smile stole over Jem's features. "My apologies, Clary," he said graciously, before turning to her companion. "And now, I have the pleasure of introducing to your acquaintance, Miss Isabelle Lightwood."

"Er, hello," Tessa said uncertainly.

"Hey," the little one, Clary, said. "Nice to meet you."

Isabelle Lightwood said nothing until Clary nudged her. "Be nice, Izzy," she hissed. Isabelle scowled but relented. "Hi," she said sullenly. "I'm Isabelle and I don't trust you."

"Isabelle, Clary," Jem hurried on, "this is Miss Theresa Gray."

"Tessa," Tessa automatically corrected. Clary grinned at her. "You too?" she said. "I hate my real name."

Isabelle had already grown tired of their talk. "James," she appealed, "didn't Will say you knew a Magnus?"

"Yes." Jem looked surprised. "Magnus Bane. He's a warlock who likes to help Charlotte when he can."

"Magnus likes to help everyone," Isabelle grumbled. "Where does he live? I want to – "

Clary was about to stomp on her friend's foot for her rudeness when a scream rent the air. The heads of the three Shadowhunters snapped up immediately, instinctively. Tessa was slower. The short scream reverberated in the silence, echoing off the stone exteriors of the Institute. The quartet remained staring into the night sky long after the sound had died away. When he finally looked away, Jem was visibly shaken. "Dear Charlotte," he murmured absently to himself.

"Whoops," Isabelle said under her breath.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Clary's eyes were wide in fear. Tessa considered the girl. She was one of the Nephilim, to be sure, but she hardly looked the part – skittish as a newborn colt and afraid of injury. She was not as calm as Jem, nor battle-ready as Will, nor collected as Charlotte. Jem caught her eye and cleared his throat. "Well," Tessa said awkwardly, "would you, um…care for a cup of tea?"

"I just killed someone," Isabelle said, dark eyes narrowing, "and you're asking me if I want tea?"

"She'd love some," Clary intervened. "It, uh, calms the nerves, right?"

"That's what Hodge used to say," a glowering Isabelle asserted. "But his tea always tasted like crap."

"Jace said it was a tisane," Clary reminded. "For stress."

"Well, it was horrible either way," Isabelle grumbled. "Who the hell boils hibiscus pollen and cattail root together? Sadist, that's what he is. Was."

An awkward silence enveloped them. Somewhere in the distance, a raven called. The Institute was quiet as a tomb, save for the occasional rustling of the wind or uncomfortable fidget of one of the little party on the steps. To Tessa, it seemed an eon before Jessamine flounced through the grand double doors in all her indignant glory. She was halfway through a complaint to Jem before she noticed the newcomers. Her dainty jaw dropped as she stared openly at the two girls. Clary stared back in confusion and apprehension. Isabelle pretended not to notice.

It took Jessamine nearly a full minute to recover. Drawing herself up proudly, she brushed Tessa's explanations aside and turned to Jem once again. "James, who are these people?"

_()()()_

**MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**OCTOBER 2007**

**3:09 AM**

Jace burst through the door without a second thought. Inside stood Magnus, who appeared to be feeling the wall. "This is where they left from," he said, before Jace had a chance to yell. "This room. The only problem is, I can't pinpoint the exact location."

"Is that a bad thing?" Simon asked. "Hey, I'm a newbie," he added to Jace's ill-humored glare. "I don't know these things. You have to be nice to me."

"It's potentially a _very_ bad thing," Magnus said. "If I can't trace the vanishing point exactly, then there's no use. We might as well take the train to Moscow for all the good it'd do us."

"That's not technically possible," Alec felt compelled to say. "There's an ocean in the way."

"I was speaking figuratively," Magnus said.

"Oh." Alec wilted under the look of his blond brother. "Right."

"Thank you, genius," Jace said sourly. "Your brilliance is much appreciated."

"Your attitude, on the other hand, isn't." Magnus gave Jace the evil eye. "So can it, Shadowhunter."

Jace looked highly affronted. "I will not _'can it'_, warlock – "

"Oh yes," Magnus continued, "you will. If you want to find your girlfriend, anyway. It's really less trouble for me if you insist on carrying on with that barbaric manner of yours."

Simon whistled under his breath. "You just got _told_," he snickered. Jace shot him a nasty look. "Shut it, vampire, or I'll shut it for you."

Simon looked as if he dearly wanted to retaliate, but held his tongue when Magnus snapped his fingers menacingly. Flecks of glitter floated lazily to Clary's wooden floor. Alec eyed the abandoned vacuum glumly. Church yawned. Simon glowered. Jace glowered harder at the sight of Simon's glower. Magnus continued his patdown of the wall.

"I'm going down to look for food," Alec said eventually. "Sorry, Magnus," he added. "But I'm starving. And I have a hangover."

"Good," Magnus growled. "I hope it hurts."

Alec looked astonished. "What was that for?"

"For thinking about food while your sister's missing."

"It's not like this is going anywhere fast," Alec mumbled, slouching. "It'll take _hours_ to cover every bit of Clary's walls."

Magnus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he asked. "Then what –" he tapped the paint job twice, " – would this be, exactly?" A Portal the size of a dime appeared on the wall, rapidly growing until it was the size of man. Alec made a noise of meek agology. The Portal's color abruptly changed from a pleasant, glowing blue, to a vibrant purple, then just as suddenly to a swirling red. Simon blinked. Green. He blinked again. Pink. Again. Blue. Magnus' face clouded over at the sight of the shifting colors. Turning his back to the Shadowhunters and Simon, he studied the altering shades intently. When he turned back to them, his face was torn between amazement and fury.

"What is it?" Jace demanded. "What happened to her?"

"And Isabelle?" Simon asked, just as quickly.

Magnus only shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I just don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Alec straightened from the slump he'd assumed after Magnus' verbal assailment. "It's not inter-dimensional, is it?"

"Not inter-dimensional, no." Magnus twisted his rings around his fingers. "But not exactly one-dimensional, either."

"He's gone crazy," Jace said sharply. "That doesn't even make sense."

"It's half-dimensional." Magnus ignored Jace. "Neither here nor there."

"Where is there?" Alec asked exasperatedly. "Nigeria? Tibet? New Jersey?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Some warlock you are," Jace muttered.

"I do know one thing," Magnus said, still pretending not to hear Jace. "It's not this time."

"This _time_?" Simon eyed the Portal with a new respect. "Like, the future?"

"The future is extremely hard to enter without a guide, as it holds things yet to come," Magnus explained. "No – I'm afraid they've gone into the past."

_()()()_

**So….this chapter took an ungodly amount of time. Sorry 'bout that. You can direct all complaints towards writers block. Hope this made you laugh. And fury at the cliffhangers is always good too :)**


	5. The Past's Presence

**A NOTE: This thing is almost entirely pre-Clockwork Prince. Pretty much all events/things, bar Sopheon/Briget/Cyril/a few other developements, that appear in both stories – such as demon pox – have been in the notes for this story for months. Same goes for CoFA.**

**Also, I'm soooo sorry for not updating! I have any number of excuses at the ready, but part one is simply that I'm lazy and super-forgetful. I'll let you choose the other half ;) (Who knows? Maybe I was on a top-secret mission to Mars…or maybe not :P)**

_**Chapter 4: Past's Presence**_

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1878**

**8:09 PM**

"Interesting." Mortmain leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Very interesting. Is that all?"

"Yes." The hooded figure rose and bowed. "'That is all I have for now, but you may expect more in the future."

"Excellent, excellent." Mortmain drew a cloth sack from his waistcoat and tossed it to the individual standing opposite himself. The figure caught it, but eyed the man. "I did not ask for a reward, Mortmain."

"Yet a reward is what is given." Mortmain smiled with childlike innocence at his logic. "Take it."

"I thank you, though I neither need nor want it." The figure made to throw it back, but Mortmain leaned forward, eyes flashing. "_Take_ it."

The figure paused. Then, finally tucking the small bag of gold into his cloak, he said, "Thank you, sir. You are most kind."

Mortmain nodded, once again complacent. "You are much welcome, Fredrichs. It was well-earned. You may go."

"As my lord wishes." Fredrichs bowed once more, then swept from the room, cloak swirling. The door clicked shut behind him.

_()()()_

Jessamine's little gasp seemed ominous in the still night air. Isabelle's mouth twisted into a half-sneer. "That's right," she said grimly. "The future. Or is that more than your prehistoric little mind can comprehend?"

"Izzy," Clary groaned. "Shut up, would you? If they turn out to be sadistic serial killers, they're going to murder you first."

"I assure you, we are not sadistic killers," Jem said, with an air of polite confusion. "Nor are we this…_chereal_ you speak of."

"Serial," Clary explained. "They're, like, guys who go on killings sprees. And occasionally, rapists."

"Rapists are annoying," Isabelle muttered. "Too greasy. And they scream like girls."

"Makes sense," Clary said. "They hear them often enough, right? Girls screaming, I mean."

"And _what_, exactly, is a rapist?" Will strode around the corner. He scowled when he caught sight of Isabelle and Jessamine on the steps. "Oh, brilliant, now there's two of you to contend with," he muttered. "James, I do hope you haven't let Charlotte confiscate my stash of whisky yet. I may be needing it a rather lot tonight."

"Charlotte emptied the bottles a _week_ ago," Jessamine sniffed, momentarily recovered from her shock. "And she told that dunderhead _fool_ she calls a_husband_ not to lend you so much as a _farthing_."

"Harsh words," Will intoned. "I approve."

"Will," Jem said sternly. "Go check up on Charlotte, would you? We hardly need a debate at this particular moment."

"Very well," Will said, "though I'll have you know Brother Enoch will have me sent down momentarily."

"I can't possibly imagine why," Tessa muttered.

"I know! Neither can I! I'm a sickroom's own ray of light!" His mocking tone didn't quite match the look in his eyes. Jem, seeing this, cleared his throat. "William, the lady…?" he reminded. Will curtly tipped his hat and vanished into the Institute.

"Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do," Isabelle huffed. "What a heathen. Barbaric, really."

"He's stressed, I suspect," Jem said. "Charlotte is the Clave's best healer, after the Silent Brothers. Will doesn't quite trust any one else to apply an_iratze_ for him. I would imagine he's worried about her."

"As worried as _he_ ever gets," Jessamine said disdainfully. "_Please_, he's _only_ worried because it pertains to _himself_ and his upkeep."

"Will's not that selfish," Jem insisted. "He does care for her, quietly and in his own way."

"How utterly fascinating," Isabelle disrupted dryly. "By the Angel, you cave-people just don't _get_ urgency, do you?"

"Tea!" Clary fairly yelped, in an effort to override her friend's oncoming tirade. "Let's have some tea."

"Yes, tea, let's," Tessa repeated tonelessly. Like one of Mortmain's creatures, she thought. Emotionless. Detached. Beside her, Jessamine scowled. Jem looked bewildered by the four different moods around him. "If you'll excuse me, ladies," he said, bowing elegantly, "I ought to check on Charlotte myself. Frankly, I'm a tad worried that there's only Brother Enoch here. He has long been a bearer of bad news."

"How _dreadful_," Jessamine murmured condescendingly. "And _what_ ill news might he be bringing us today?"

Isabelle, catching this, straightened and said, "You're one _bitchy_ piece of work, d'you know that? Obviously, the bad news is that I killed Charlotte."

Jessamine, aghast, stood gaping. "I beg your _pardon_?" Halfway up the steps, Jem slowly filled his cheeks with air, then blew them out, clearly anticipating a fight. Tessa looked on in stunned, admiring interest. Clary clapped a hand to her eyes and mumbled to herself. Isabelle smirked, reveling in the attention. "You heard what I said," she laughed. "And you _know_ it's true."

"A _lady_ - ! A lady does not utter such _derogatory_ terms, under _any_circumstances!" Jessamine puffed up with rage. "You – you are no _lady_!"

Isabelle shrugged, unconcerned. "Never said I was, now did I?" she asked coolly.

"And your manner of _dress_!" Jessamine continued, clearly oblivious to Isabelle's commentary. "Why, it's positively _hideous_! And those _awful_ shoes!"

"Actually, they're in this season," Isabelle said pensively. "And this top is Gucci. _Gucci_. Do you not get how amazing it is? And the jeans are – "

"Enough!" Jessamine screamed. "Your prattling is _intolerable_! I bid you retire to whatever _gentleman's_ club you so _brazenly_ came from!"

"Whorehouse, eh?" Isabelle lifted an practiced, unimpressed eyebrow. "Classy."

"Be _gone_! Leave this place!"

"You know," Isabelle added to Clary conversationally, "that Downworlder brothel we raided last week – the one in NoHo, with those ugly pink bed-curtain things? I think it's the same place she got her dress from. Don't you?"

"You _horrid_ girl!" Jessamine screeched. "_Witch_! She-Devil! Woman of the – _James_! Stop your_shouting_!"

"It's not me," Jem said, looking worried. "Will's back. Look."

_()()()_

**MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**OCTOBER 2007**

**3:16 AM**

Alec was the first to break the silence. "You're joking," he said. "You've _got_ to be joking. It's not humanly possible to travel back in time."

"Clary isn't human," Magnus said quietly. "You forget, she has been Touched. She can do things not even _I_ can do."

"Touched?" Simon raised his eyebrows. "Sounds a little too sexual for Clary, don't you think?"

"To be Touched," Jace said, glaring, "means one has been in contact with an angel. _Not_ what you're insinuating, Daylighter."

"Gesundheit," Simon said. "Run that by me again?"

"Look," Alec said impatiently, "Clary is special. Jace is special. And you are _mentally_ special."

"That you are." Magnus glowered at them. "Are you quite finished? I'd like to examine this, if you don't mind."

Furious, Jace began pacing. "I can't believe…_stupid_…jackass," he muttered.

"Seeing as your name is one letter away from Jack," Magnus said evenly, "I am assuming you're talking about yourself. In which case, it ought to be Jaceass. If you are, however, on an off chance talking about me, you will address me as Magnusass the splendid."

Simon doubled over laughing. Alec snorted in disbelief and cracked a reluctant smile. Jace shot them both a look that promised violence.

"Enough." Magnus prodded the edges of the Portal with a suspicious-looking rod that seemed to have come from thin air. He assumed the air of a storybook detective. "Just as I thought. It's highly unstable. To go through now would mean certain death."

"Get real, Sherlock," Simon snickered. "That stuff only happens in low-budget thrillers."

Church headbutted the wall at Magnus' feet and meowed. "Right you are," the warlock said to the cat. "Can't say I like it very much, however. Horrible jetlag."

"What? Portals give jetlag?" Simon, instantly serious, groped in his pocket for a moment before lowering his hand. "Damn. I forgot I can't take Gravol."

"Not Portals," Magnus said. "Time-traveling. Ghastly aftereffects."

"You said you're never time-traveled," Alec observed. "How would you know?"

"I haven't," Magnus conceded. "But I wake up with the most atrocious headaches and heartburn whenever I recall more than three years previous. I would imagine it's about the same. Maybe a little worse. Who knows?"

"Great," Jace said acidly. "So we're blindly jumping through an unstable, glowing hole in the wall into God know what year, with an inexperienced warlock, two teenage Shadowhunters, and an amateur vampire. Wonderful."

"Actually," Magnus corrected cheerfully, "_you'll_ be blindly jumping into God knows what year. _I_, as the voice of reason, will be calmly strolling into God knows what year."

"Well, then," Simon said. "I feel so much safer knowing that."

"As you well should," Magnus agreed. "I am highly qualified to go Portal-strolling."

"Shut up," Alec interrupted. "Both of you. All of you." Church grunted and flicked his tail. "Not you," Alec apologized. "Them. The idiots. And Magnus. But mostly the idiots."

"Why does Magnus get to be just Magnus?" Simon whined.

"I am _not_ an idiot," Jace rumbled.

"I resent that," Magnus said.

"What was I supposed to do?" Alec maintained. "Politely ask you to shut the hell up so we can find my sister? Not likely."

Church hissed irritably and flicked his tail. Outside the Institute, cars horns blared. Inside, the four stared at each other tensely. "We will continue this conversation at a later date, Alexander," Magnus finally said. "Our priority at the moment is getting through this Portal alive."

"Alive, or uninjured?" Jace asked sourly.

"Alive, and with a bit of luck, injured," Magnus clarified. "There's no point in hoping we'll get through unscathed. You wouldn't believe the Slicing rates for one-dimensional Portals. One-dimensional, I tell you! Those things are safer than a dead Ducati."

"What?" Simon blinked owlishly. "Ducatis are motorcycles, Magnus."

"They are _not_, vampire." Magnus looked appalled. "Any self-respecting Daywalker knows that."

"Daywalker? I'm Daylighter, not Daywalker." Simon slitted his eyes. "You're going crazy, warlock."

"He's not plural, either," Jace added. "The Angel knows I can barely handle _one_."

"Have you been smoking again?" Alec demanded. "You _know_ you can't handle the nicotine."

"No," Magnus scowled. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what that stuff does to one's _teeth_?"

Church arched his back and spat at the four. Alec looked mildly surprised. "Hey," he protested, "I _apologized_. Besides, I wasn't even talking to you. By the Angel, you're like a really bad, really clingy girlfriend sometimes. Can't take a joke."

Jace and Magnus each lifted an eyebrow in perfect sync. "And you've had a girlfriend like this?" they asked simultaneously.

"That," Simon told the room at large, "was creepy. Did you guys, like, plan that or what?"

"No," Jace growled. "Now can we _please_ go through the fucking Portal?"

"Well – " Magnus started.

"I DIDN'T ASK YOUR OPINION!" Jace yelled.

"It's not safe," Magnus hissed. "You run the risk of, oh, shredding yourself to pieces, but hey, what can I do? I'm just a silly old warlock who has loads more power than you do. By all means, don't listen to me."

"Thanks," Jace said, "I won't."

"You're not _old_," Alec protested. "You're, like, _twenty_."

"Neither of those was the right response," Magnus glowered.

"Was I supposed to say something?" Simon mused.

"Hey," Jace said, turning at the sound of Simon's voice, a sudden maniac glint in his eyes. "Hey, Daylighter, come over here."

Simon regarded Jace warily. "No. You're plotting something."

"Damn right I am. Look, d'you want to get the girls back or not?"

"Well…yes," Simon muttered.

"Then get over here," Jace hissed dangerously. "Now."

Simon took a single step towards the angel boy. "That's as close as I'm coming."

"It'll do." Before he could blink, Jace had a vise-like grip on his arm. "Shout if you die." With a single fluid movement, Jace sent Simon stumbling forwards. He teetered at the edge of the Portal. "What was that f –"

Jace shoved Simon viciously. "_Sayonara_, Daylighter."

And then he was falling through open nothingness, wind whistling through his ears.

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1878**

"It's not good," Will said grimly. "Brother Enoch won't say anything, and that _never_ means anything good."

When he'd burst from the Institute's doors, Will had been pale, his face drawn and pinched with worry. Now that they, along with the two strange girls, were seated in the parlor, he was fiddling with a button on his waistcoat absentmindedly – _the closest the great William Herondale ever gets to nervous,_Tessa thought bitterly. Jem sat beside her, looking twice as worried as Jessamine did, settled in the corner chaise; Isabelle and Clarissa had taken the chairs across from her. Clary looked tired and scared and anxious, slouched down abominably. Isabelle, in contrast, perched stiffly with a sour expression plastered on a face lovelier than Jessamine's. "I see."

"I hate the Silent Brothers," Clary said to no one in particular.

Will snorted, sprawled on the carpet at Isabelle's feet. "And do not we all? You know, I briefly considered joining them, but – "

" – but your vanities got in the way," Jem finished, almost impatiently. "Please, do attempt to stay in the present."

"'Course," Will said brightly. "Charlotte does love my hair, you know, couldn't disappoint her that much."

"The present," Isabelle said in a low voice, looking mutinous and ignoring the boy. "This is just getting ridiculous now. There's no way we're really in the past-presence – or whatever it is."

"I'm afraid you appear to be," Jem said. "Unless you were sent by someone else?"

"Namely the Magister," Will added. "Bloody bastard."

"And just who is the Magister?" Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "Some kind of demon that's extinct where we come from? A rouge Shadowhunter?"

"Something of the sort," Tessa hedged, playing with her angel nervously. Just the mention of Mortmain gave her the shudders. "He's…closer to a human-warlock hybrid of some sort, we believe."

"Oh." Isabelle frowned. "Well, that's just awesome. Actually, come to think of it, I think I've heard of someone like that. Close to it, anyway, he had a bit of Nephilim blood in him too…except it wasn't a he."

"So you'd be talking about Miss Gray, then, hmm?" Will wriggled happily on the carpet. "We don't really know what she is either." Jessamine, who had yet to say something, snickered in her corner.

"William!" Jem looked shocked. "That is no way to speak to or about your friend. Apologize to her. Jessamine, you too. Right now."

"You sound like Charlotte," Will observed instead. "You should stop it. Doesn't become you very well."

The hand that had been previously toying with the necklace had clutched the pendant the moment the words had left Will's lips. Her fingers were wrapped around the angel so tightly that Tessa was afraid she'd break it. Her heart seized and spluttered in her chest, for some inexplicable reason. It had never acted that way before, when Nate or Jessie insulted her. Nonetheless, he had been rude, and now she was cut.

"That will be enough, Mr. Herondale," she said coldly. "Thank you, Jem. If you'll excuse me, I should go see why Bridget's taking so long with the tea. Clary, Isabelle." She nodded to the two girls and left in a huff reminiscent of Jessamine's flouncing disdain.

"I don't see why you're so attached to her," Jessie pouted. "It's not as if she's anything special; even Charlotte was better than her."

"That's just mean," Clary mumbled.

"You talk about her like she's dead for sure," Isabelle snapped. "Have you ever seen the Silent Brothers in action? They kick some serious ass. She'll be fine. And you should probably shut up before someone hits you."

Will clapped, slow and loud. "Well said," he crowed. "I've wanted to tell her that for _years_."

"It's not that hard," Isabelle said, a smirk in her voice. "You should try it someday." Beside her, Clary groaned. "Oh, great, Izzy, make friends with the asshat, best idea you've had all day. Right after jumping through that dumb Portal."

"Last person I remember you calling an asshat was Jace," Izzy reminded her lazily, "and look where you two are now. And actually, _you_ made the Portal. I can't be blamed. What can I say, I'm perfect."

While Clary turned a red that would make a tomato jealous, Isabelle wasted no time in informing Will of their so-called scandalous romance. Soon, both dark-haired Shadowhunters were laughing and poking fun at every little aspect of Clary's love life.

Jem, meanwhile, was staring at the door, the ceiling, and Isabelle in turn. Ceiling, door, Izzy, door, Izzy, ceiling. Charlotte, Tessa, Izzy, Tessa, Izzy, Charlotte. There might have been a pitying thought for Jessamine in there somewhere as well, but he couldn't be sure. Though she was looking awfully bored, sitting in the corner, picking at a loose thread of a handkerchief in her lap, and watching Isabelle and Will with the utmost contempt. He decided the pity was for Clary, who looked as though she actually needed it.

"Right then," he said calmly. "Since none of you seem to have noticed, Tessa is understandably upset. I'm going to talk to her, and to check on Charlotte."

Isabelle sobered at the mention of the other woman. "Sorry, Jem," she said, sounding a little shameful. "I should go see her too. I'm coming with you."

"Oh no you are _not_," a new voice said from the doorway. Someone had simply walked in with none of them noticing. Jem's hand was on the head of his cane immediately; had they run into Tessa on their way to the library? Had they harmed her? How badly had they hurt her? He felt his jaw clench and his heart race. Will, in contrast, merely stretched and yawned.

Clary and Isabelle, however, looked as though they'd seen a ghost. "You," Isabelle stuttered. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Manners, manners," the newcomer chided. "You'll run the risk of being nearly as despised as young William here if you carry on like that."

"Sorry," Isabelle grumbled reluctantly. "But how are you here already? We only got here an hour ago!"

"Oh, I have my ways." With that, Magnus Bane smiled.

()()()

**So? Has it gotten worse during my (unintentional) hiatus? Or better? How can I improve? :3**

**And again, sooo sorry. Them Mars-missions take time ;) I'll try to get the next one up within a month though, swear.**

**-Me**


	6. Eighteen Seventy Eight

**Um…so I suck at updating. Then again, that's not exactly news.**

_**Chapter 5 – Eighteen Seventy-Eight**_

_()()()_

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**SEPTEMBER 23, 1878**

Isabelle eyed Magnus' clothes grimly. "I can't believe you really live here," she said for the umpteenth time. "I mean, I knew you lived in London for a while, but not _here_-here. In seventeen-whatever."

"Eighteen seventy-eight," Jem offered mildly.

"I don't," Magnus said. "I live with Woolsey. Before that, I lived with Camille. Heavens above, that sounds rather boorish, doesn't it?"

"Don't leave out the bit when you could've lived with me," Will requested, still on the ground. "Kissing me and all, one would assume you are determined to sleep with all of Britain's lowest life forms."

"I didn't kiss you, you were merely delirious," Magnus said, at the same time Clary squeaked, "He kissed you?" Isabelle, however, just rolled her eyes. "Blue eyes, black hair," she mused. "Figures."

"Hmm?" Magnus distractedly plucked a stray thread from the sleeve of his elaborate purple coat. "You realize you're making absolutely no sense, darling."

Isabelle shrugged and plucked a sequin off her shirt, just to spite him. Clary, meanwhile, continued to gape. "Oh," she said weakly. "I – um – well, Magnus, that's certainly…um, unique of you."

"It was a shoddy kiss," Will said, as if no one had spoken. "Let me make this perfectly clear, I have no desire whatsoever to carry on with those who look like myself when under the covers – "

"_Will_," Jem said.

" – but even so, I must say that I'm rather disappointed in my subconscious' apparent lack of detail. Honestly. There was an appalling shortage of vivacity to it. Magnus, you kiss like a fish. Dear me, James, you look as though you've _swallowed_ the fish. Has he kissed you too?"

"Don't be stupid," Jessamine shrilled. "Of course he hasn't."

"Ah, but Jessie," Will said gravely, "you spend so much time dousing yourself with rose water that you miss everything that goes on around you. Haven't you heard? It's all the rage, men sleeping with men, ladies such as yourself – "

"Will, that's enough," Jem said, sharper than he'd intended. "Magnus, why are you here?"

"Same reason you are," the warlock said sagely. "My sources have informed me that one of you fell in battle. I came to fix her up."

"You're a little late," Isabelle said sourly. "The Silent Brothers are already here."

"Pah." Magnus didn't even look phased. "Those dunderheads don't know the first thing about healing. Their pomp and circumstance is all rubbish – tell me, dear James, how many people have you seen die in their care?"

"A few," Jem said hesitantly.

"Thirteen," Will clarified.

"Sixteen," Isabelle countered immediately. "Novice."

"Braggart."

"Pigheaded man."

"Insouciant girl."

"_Girl?"_

"Shut up!" This came from Clary, who looked surprised at her own bluntness. Jem shot her a smile. "You'll get used to Will," he promised. "After a while, ignoring him becomes instinct."

"Yes, brilliant." Magnus interceded before Clary could reply. "As much as I adore hearing Silent Brother and Will-bashing, I need to heal someone."

"Then go." Isabelle finally relaxed in her chair, leaning back and crossing her ankles on Will's stomach. He grunted softly but otherwise didn't seem to care a whit, which Jem found slightly odd, albeit amusing.

"I can't," Magnus said simply.

"Cut the mysteriousness and tell us in plain, honest-to-God English why you can't," Izzy said.

"To test my idea, I need the blood of the benefactor. Or in this case, the one who wounded her. Which would be you."

"Test?" Will spluttered. "Idea? Magnus, are you even sure this'll work? Dear God, if you turn into Doctor Henry, I swear I'll bite another vampire."

The occupants of the room studiously ignored him, save for Isabelle, who thumped him on the chest with her heel. She shrugged calmly. "Yeah, okay. You only need, like, a shot glass' worth, right?"

"I believe so."

"Cool." Calmly, she pulled a pin out of her hair, allowing it to tumble down sensually. Jem swallowed, his jacket suddenly feeling a little too hot. She had come to the Institute with her hair in disarray from their earlier battle. Then, it had been distracting at best, but now...he averted his gaze shamefully, tugging on his lapels, realizing that he shouldn't have noticed that. He scowled as Will smirked up at him.

Isabelle, not paying attention in the least, held the pin up for Magnus' inspection. As it glinted in the lamplight, Jem saw it wasn't a pin but a blade, no larger than the width of his little finger. The warlock nodded his approval. "That'll do."

"Here goes nothing." Isabelle rolled her eyes even as she sliced the dagger across her open palm. Blood welled up from the incision, bright and rich. Magnus whipped a large vial from a pocket of his coat, which he proceeded to use to collect his due. He said something to Isabelle, and then the room at large before leaving, none of which Jem heard. The uncomfortable heat of his clothes had suddenly increased tenfold, lapping at his skin like a blazing flame. His mouth had gone completely dry, and his hands twitched. Hazy purple shrouded his vision.

Against his will, he shot out of his seat and ran from the room before he had time to either explain himself to the others or command his legs to stop. Magnus had already vanished from the corridor outside the library, something for which he was alarmingly grateful. As he dashed closer to his room and farther from the library, his head began pounding, his chest began tightening, and his hands curled into fists. By the time he'd reached his door, his breaths were coming in thick, heavy pants.

He knew what this meant. He knew exactly what it was, why he was reacting – and it scared him.

The demon mating ritual always began with blood. It was a call; when blood was spilled, a mate would be attracted. The _yin fen_ had done to him exactly what he'd hoped wouldn't happen before his death – it had invested itself firmly inside of him. It was part of him now, no more merely topical medicine. He shared the beginning of the carnal trait that he so hated; the one that had killed his parents. Killed his mother.

It scared him to realize that he, James Carstairs, had found his mate in the bleeding girl downstairs.

_()()()_

Charlotte had always hated the infirmary. As a child, she'd watched her mother die on the very cot she was lying on; in later years, it had been her father's deathbed. Now, it was destined to be hers, she was sure of it. It was fitting, she supposed, as she was the last of the Fairchilds. If she couldn't honor her father's last wish to carry on the family line, the least she could do was fall in battle and die the way he had – a death of honor. It was what was expected of her, what had always been expected of her.

Dimly, she heard voices unhappily arguing. Magnus' sharp tone was unmistakable. She wasn't exactly sure of what he was saying, but she caught the words "angel" and "risky." Brother Enoch's soundless rebuke reverberated inside her heard, bouncing off the sides of her skull. Surprisingly, this hurt her. She tried to grit her teeth in pain, but stopped when she realized she couldn't feel much of anything anymore. There was a heavy pressure on her left hand – no, her right – she couldn't tell, it didn't matter anyway. The ache in her chest surpassed everything. Hands and voices would soon be behind her. Will and his secrets, Jem and his illness and sweet violin music, Henry and his everything…in only a moment, they'd all be gone and she would have nobody to worry about ever again.

For the first time in her life, Charlotte would be free.

_()()()_

**HEY GUYS. So this chapter is really short and kinda lame, and its sole purpose in life is to be dramatic and cliffhanger-y. **

**On that note, my brain apparently went MIA for a while and the plot bunnies all hopped away (blame high school), but I'm back, baby! Should have another update soon :)**

**Have an awesome weekend, everybody!**


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